


By Proxy

by Jen (ConsultingWriters)



Series: The Earpiece Collection [1]
Category: James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, A lot - Freeform, F/M, I have no idea how this happened, M/M, Sex, and I played with metaphor and tenses, but it developed one, earpiece sex, essentially sex by proxy, i'm not sure HOW it has a plot, it has a plot, q is a cheeky bastard, relationship, when I wasn't looking, with a dirty mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingWriters/pseuds/Jen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond is on a mission. He finds a woman. Q is in his ear, and Bond begins to blot out the nameless woman in favour of frantic images of his Quartermaster...</p><p>
  <i> He pushes the woman back against the bed, crawling, predatorily, over her body. He blinks, and in that heartbeat, can see Q’s wide eyes staring up at him, sharp, mercurial, fathomless. He imagines every facet of Q, and being the person to take everything that he is for his own.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Proxy

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this today. I don't know what came over me. It's the most porny thing I've written. Blimey.
> 
> The woman in this is, by design, very vacuous. That's the idea. So while my feminist side died quietly, that is rather the point!!
> 
> Enjoy.

Bond has absolutely no idea what her name it. It isn’t particularly important, to be honest. It has been a very long day, and she smiles vapidly and says the right words in the right tone in the right places.

He decides he’ll have sex with her, as he does with all of these vacuous women, simply because he can. Sex is a little-used weapon, but devastating in effect from time to time. Sex with this single woman would have repercussive effects through his entire mission; it is perennially surprising what people would do for a woman. God forbid anybody allowed themselves to feel genuine _care_.

He feels some limited affection for those he engages with, but at the same time, they are easily discarded and forgotten.

His mind tends back to Vesper every once in a while, but then, she would remain the immortal exception.

They make it back to her room. He smiles a sideways smile, and tracks his hands down her curves. It is as he reaches her indented waist that he hears a long, deep, shuddering exhale of breath in his ear.

It is three AM UK time, and Bond is no longer being monitored by MI6; he had actually forgotten he was still wearing the earpiece, a tiny little invention that hid neatly in his ear and was actually relatively difficult to surreptitiously extract.

“I would like you to fuck me, Bond,” a voice says, in tandem with some saccharine statement from the redhead in front of him. He barely hears her. The polite, clipped intonation, the perfect formation of vowels. The usual profusion of humour has evaporated; the tone is deep and rich with sexuality Bond had not known possible.

He is not overwhelmingly surprised by how enthusiastically his body responds to that voice.

\---

Q leant forward, mouth millimetres from his microphone, watching Bond with quicksilver intensity on his multitudes of cameras. He could see the indentation in Bond’s trousers become more pronounced, and smirked slightly to himself. His little gamble had paid off. Perfect.

\---

Bond, of course, cannot say a word. He doesn’t tend to speak much during sex anyway, not when the conversation is likely to be as hollow as the space between his conquest’s ears. Every once in a while, he picks up on one with a mind and a spark, and his grin mutates into something frighteningly genuine, and those are usually the ones that die shortly afterwards.

“ _Kiss me_ ,” the voice breathes, and Bond willingly obliges, eyes shut, imagining very different contours. He expects the feel of the kiss would be relatively similar; Q would have soft lips, after all, like this nameless woman. He had seen Q’s lips. Not that he had watched.

He tugs the woman closer, finding himself irritated by the amount of hair, the softness of curves, the things he usually finds the most compelling. The woman is appallingly beautiful, the aesthetic faultless, but she is not what Bond desires in this moment.

When the woman starts to work at his trousers, he hears a vague tut. “ _A little forward, perhaps, but then you would enjoy it. I have always harboured a quiet desire to apply some of my less usual skills to your pleasure_.”

Only Q could make a something so simple sound so complex.

Bond’s fingers start to play, and when they reach the woman’s clit, any pathetic noises she makes are wiped out by the sigh in his ear. “ _Your hands around me, Bond. I have imagined it more frequently than you can conceive of. For the record, this is a private line, I have disconnected it from all MI6 monitors. Just you and I, 007._ ”

Bond fingers flick and caress, and the woman keens for him, and Q lets out a slight moan. He is masturbating. Bond knows this with absolute surety.

He presses a finger upwards, making the woman wail breathily. He is very good at knowing what is needed, what is wanted. Where to place pressure, where to stroke and rub and squeeze.

“ _More,_ ” Q asks in a slightly hoarse voice. Bond’s cock jumps slightly. He shuts his eyes again as he kisses the woman, still fucking her with one finger, aware that every motion he makes is being perfectly translated at the other end of his headpiece by a young man, a boy, his Quartermaster.

When he takes his hands away before either of the people is he fucking comes, both give twin groans. The woman’s is one of desperation, Q’s one of pure exasperation. “ _Bond, that is pure sadism_ ,” he groans, but apparently plays along with this newfound game and doesn’t bring himself off. Bond smirks to himself. He can imagine Q, achingly hard, desperate for more contact, his own hand working in lieu of Bond’s.

The woman pulls Bond onto the bed, slipping her hands into Bond’s trousers. Q gives a slight murmur of surprise, as he catches a glimpse of Bond’s cock. “ _You would pose something of a challenge,_ ” Q murmurs, sounding a touch breathless. “ _I suppose we could explore the limits of my gag reflex to rather great effect._ ”

Bond groans himself, as he shifts against the woman’s thin fingers; Q’s were lithe and long, similar in feel he would imagine, but infinitely more dextrous. The woman made some comment, and Bond replied without the faintest idea of what either party was saying, imagining fucking Q’s throat, imagining the Quartermaster pliant under his ministrations.

“ _I need you. Fucking me properly_ ,” Q gasped. “ _I need you inside me, I need to come, Bond. Stop taunting me._ ”

Bond swallowed a laugh; Q was genuinely attempting to talk about ‘taunting’ while they essentially had sex by proxy. Bond, in a sudden darting motion of movement, stripped the woman beneath him of clothing, staring at the body beneath him and fervently imagining Q in its stead.

“ _I’m not as skinny as I expect you believe, but nevertheless, I am rather small,_ ” Q describes, without shame or concern. “ _I am also moments away from setting off one the explosives I have on your person, as recompense for your refusal to continue bringing me off._ ”

“I intend to make you scream my name before I let you come,” Bond growls, the words caught by the tiny microphone laced in the collar of his shirt. The woman’s eyes dilate visibly, and Q makes a strangely choked noise in his ear.

“ _I would enjoy seeing you try_ ,” Q rasps. Bond chuckles tonelessly, divesting himself of his remaining clothing, pressing open kisses to the sensitive skin of inner thighs, arms, wrists.

“ _Bond._ James _, please,_ ” Q whines in his ear, and Bond is everywhere at once, licking stripes along sensitive skin and nipping slightly at pressure points, Q’s breathing turning faintly more ragged, more obvious.

He pushes the woman back against the bed, crawling, predatorily, over her body. He blinks, and in that heartbeat, can see Q’s wide eyes staring up at him, sharp, mercurial, fathomless. He imagines every facet of Q, and being the person to take everything that he is for his own.

“ _Do you want me, 007?_ ” Q asks lightly, only the slight unevenness of tone betraying him.

“ _Yes_ ,” Bond says in a sharp pant, the woman misconstruing it, Q sighing in his ear and making him shudder gorgeously. He can not remember a time when he was this hard, when he wanted something _so badly_.

Bond lines himself up, hovering, kissing sporadically, his desperation translating to frantic, fervent motion. The woman bucks and slides beneath him, guiding him towards her, repeating his name like some sorry mantra.

“Ready?” he asks, and the woman pulls him in for a kiss that tell him precisely how ready she is, and Q whispers a soft _yes_.

The heat, the friction, is overwhelming. Bond’s eyes shutter closed as he gives them both a moment to adjust, and Q breathes harshly, and Bond’s throat closes as he imagines the vibrating body to be Q’s, and she gives a sudden sob that begs him to move.

“ _Fuck me, James_ ,” Q pleads, and Bond is quite frankly past the point of doing anything but. He stutters his hips, his brain fully engaged for once, the sensations consequently almost too much.

The woman’s eloquent cries are lost amongst the atonal gasps Bond is listening for. “ _My fingers are a poor substitute_ ,” Q manages, and Bond wonders dimly which circle of hell Q sprung from to torment him like this. He can literally see Q, fingers and hands trying to mimic Bond as best he can, working himself to a frantic release.

Bond has to confess that the image is one he will be wanking off to himself in the imminent future.

“ _Harder_ ,” Q chokes, and Bond obliges, his pace becoming punishing. He moves his hands to the woman beneath him; Q is mimicking Bond’s actions, he will not be touching himself unless Bond touches the woman, and Bond has never wanted to make somebody come more in his life.

The woman beneath him is actually having some of the best sex of her entire life. It is something of a pity that Bond is not fucking her, not really.

Bond is something of an expert in sexual matters. The woman’s cries reach a higher pitch, faintly breathier; ironically, Q’s become lower, more grounded, almost growls. “ _More_ ,” Q tells him, and Bond’s head is spinning, and his hips judder in counterpoint with his fingers. “ _ **Please**_.”

The woman is close to sobbing, and Q makes a bizarre keening noise. Bond always finds this moment intoxicating, when his partner forgets what sex is ‘supposed’ to sound like, and instead starts to make the inelegant, imperfect noises of sheer want. Undisguised, undiluted, tangibly real.

_Oh_

The noise comes in tandem with the final few rubs that makes the woman beneath him sob out his name, buckling against him, her passage clenching around him and tilting him, in tandem with Q’s gently arrhythmic snatches of breath, into one of the most blinding orgasms he can recall experiencing.

The world is blindingly bright.

He sinks into the bed, sticky and sweating, the woman curled tightly against him. He has encircled her instinctively, holding her close as she kisses his chest placidly, butterflies against his sternum.

Nobody speaks. Bond, when he able, opens his eyes to glance around the room. He knows where Q has his cameras planted, and stares in the general direction, his eyebrows raised.

“ _It was what you wanted_ ,” Q says simply. Bond cannot deny that, but he could also not deny that he had hoped for slightly more. His face is raw, expressive.

“ _Yes_ ,” Q replies. Bond’s expression relaxes faintly, a smile creeping along the set of his lips. “ _I would not do this for any agent. What do you think of me, 007?_ ”

Bond has infinite responses to that particular question, ranging from the obscene to the romantic, all true. He knows Q can read almost all of those answers from him, in the way he cradles the woman’s sleeping body, and his stormy gaze watches the camera. A contradiction in terms, oxymoronic and compelling to see.

Q laughs softly in his ear, and Bond’s eyes close for a brief moment, enjoying the sound. “ _You do have a job in hand, Bond, do try not to get overly distracted_ ,” Q tells him, and Bond looks in the direction of the camera with a face that amply expresses how unimpressed he is at that statement. He knows he has a job. He knows he will have to wait a little while yet to stride into Q-branch, to see the young Quartermaster in person, to fuck him properly until the presumptuous boy loses a touch of that sarcasm.

He has always found Q entrancing, and now, this has merely been accentuated. Q is calm and implacable, moans wantonly when stimulated, gives orders to kill without blinking, passionately bleeds out Bond’s name again and again, like everybody else Bond has destroyed over the years.

Sex is a weapon, he has always known this. He doesn’t intend to weald it against his own side. He never had sex with Eve, in the end. He knows such things only end in disaster.

Q is not like the others. Q is a glorious enigma. He represents true duality; the edge of exploration and novel concepts, juxtaposed with the appreciation and desire for the antiquated. He will not be so easy damaged, far less destroyed. He is a virus that grows and mutates, a perfect counter to Bond’s deft poison. Wickedly clever and dangerously moral.

The voice in his ear. He keeps Q in his head, allows him access, affords him respect. The woman survives the mission, which is a pleasant novelty, and Bond learns her name at some stage and forgets it almost immediately, again.

“ _I am in my office, 007. Please do not attempt entry without at least half of the equipment I gave you intact,_ ” Q says. Neither have referenced, far less discussed, the events of two days previously. The next morning, the rest of Q-branch and management had returned, and privacy could no longer be maintained.

“Can I take you out of my ear?” Bond asks flatly, and Q doesn’t laugh.

“ _If you like_ ,” he murmurs, and Bond just knows. He _knows_.

He kisses Q with fire, and Q matches him. He has never been matched before, and he _likes_ it. They are equal and opposite.

They work.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews, concrit etc are my crack. Also, I am considering expanding this into a series, based on the idea of communication - and a relationship - via earpieces. If anybody wants to throw a prompt in my general direction, be my guest!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
